Can the young know something beyond their years?
All the graces of heaven were ours when we sailed to Sanctuary Island,
believing that we were forever.
The flowers breathed on us that summer,
pure and free, and you, the clown of all glory painted out landscape.
Oh God, this silence, where ashes make torment and vast tracks lead to nowhere.
Beguiling fatal summer, you, who tricked us to hope that England would forgive us, I remember that rainy day on Sherbourne Street, the skies lies and rainbows miraculously shining, but now, the house upon the hilltop winks at our ghosts.